


I’ll Leave This World Before I Leave You

by zeldadestry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:37:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy wakes up when Greg gets out of bed but he waits, unmoving, listening to the rushes of water, first from the shower and then the tap when Greg brushes his teeth.  </p><p>They both used to sleep naked.  Jimmy still does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Leave This World Before I Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> warning: chronic illness, no one dies, but a lot of discussion of death and dying  
> AU: university setting/professors instead of hospital/doctors  
> Title taken from a line in T.I.'s "I got your back"

Jimmy wakes up when Greg gets out of bed but he waits, unmoving, listening to the rushes of water, first from the shower and then the tap when Greg brushes his teeth. 

They both used to sleep naked. Jimmy still does. 

When Greg steps back into their bedroom, Jimmy cracks his eyes open to find he’s being watched. Greg’s already fully dressed, down to his shoes. Jimmy frowns and rolls over onto his back. “What’s with you, cranky?” Greg asks, heading to the other side of the bed, his side, and picking up his watch from the night table. 

“What time is it?”

“Little after eight.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“So?”

“We don’t have anyplace to be. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

“Speak for yourself, you bum. I’ve got things to do.”

“No, you don’t.” 

Greg snorts. “What the fuck do you know? I don’t tell you everything.” 

Greg bristles when called on his bullshit and Jimmy would rather avoid an argument. “Never mind. I’ll see you later.” Jimmy shuts his eyes again so he doesn’t have to watch Greg leave. He hears Greg walk around the bed, feels his presence near. He tries not to hope. After a moment, Greg brushes Jimmy’s hair away from his forehead.

“What were the precise terms of your deal with Satan?” 

Jimmy doesn’t need to see him to know Greg’s smirking. “What’s the proof that I ever made one?” he asks. 

“You don’t look any different than when I met you, you know that? So it’s either a helping hand from the guy with the horns or you’ve got a cursed painting hidden away in our attic.”

“Maybe I drink the blood of the innocent.”

“That must be it. You were like that yourself, once, young, earnest, virtuous.”

Jimmy smiles. “I was only ever the first of the three.”

“I spent months watching you back then-”

“Obsessed.”

“Hopelessly, I admit, because I was convinced you couldn’t ever want what I did.”

“But you were wrong.” 

“And then when I saw you all over your date at that dinner party of Lisa’s, Christ-” Greg loves to tell that story.

“I knew you were looking at us.” Jimmy’s never admitted that before. “That’s why I kept kissing him, had my hands on him. I wanted your attention much more than his.” 

Greg tugs at a lock of Jimmy’s hair. “You did? Fuckin tease. Did you really?”

“Yes. I noticed you before we ever even met, when I first toured the campus, did you know that? And you know what I’ve thought about, ever since?”

Greg’s hand pulls away. “No quid pro quo.”

“You don’t want to hear about what I thought the first time I saw you?”

“No.” Greg leaves without saying anything else.

Jimmy curls up on his side again and wonders if he’ll be able to get back to sleep. 

 

Jimmy walks slowly up the sidewalk to the home he shares with Greg. It’s the second week of November and leaves are falling, brown and yellow and red underneath his feet. When he looks up from the pavement he finds Eric Foreman sitting by himself on their front steps. “Hey. Everything ok?” 

Eric shakes his head, takes to his feet. He sticks out his hand and Jimmy clasps it, Eric’s grip firm and warm around his own, like always. “I waited because- I wanted to tell you- I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I think this was my last visit.”

Why does Greg have to make everything so difficult? “What happened this time?”

“We fought.”

“But you always argue.” Greg lives to provoke Eric. Last time it was because Greg said if he were going to die, anyway, he might as well go back to using. In fact, he asked Eric if he or Remy could get the drugs. Jimmy figured that was a joke, but he wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to believe Greg could’ve been serious. Eric said he must have meant it, because he used the word please. “I’m not sure the two of you have ever had a single civil conversation.” 

“Yeah, but this was different. He wanted to hurt me and I- I’m tired of forcing myself not to fight back.”

“Tell me what happened?”

“It surprised me, when I saw him. He’s deteriorated so quickly since the last time.”

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. It’s just, you’ve been so solid about all of this, and I guess I didn’t realize it would upset you.” 

“It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t have thought it would freak me out, either, but it did, and I didn’t hide that quickly enough. He caught me, he noticed my reaction, and he called me out on it. I could have lied, pretended, but I, I’m sick of it. I don’t know how you live with it. And he got angry, very angry.” Eric rubs at his eyes. “He’s still the same Greg, he doesn’t see what he has. He tried to torment me with scenes from my future with Remy. He told me how someday I’d be repulsed by her, that when I looked at her all I would see is her disease and I’d hate her, she’d just be this weight, suffocating me. And I looked at him and I said, you know that’s not how Jimmy feels, you know he loves you.”

“So you tried to crash the pity party and that just pissed him off even more.”

“Exactly. That’s when he started throwing books at me and told me to get the fuck out and never come back.”

“He threw books at you?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

“Either his aim’s gotten shitty or he wasn’t trying very hard to hit me but it was a spectacular temper tantrum, anyway. He even dropped a few out the window when I stepped out the front door. Look.” 

Eric points at the thick textbooks and Jimmy can’t hold back his laugh. “At least he hasn’t lost all his upper body strength.”

“Hey, the man’s like the Hulk. Keep him angry and he’ll outlive us all.”

“It’s a theory.” Jimmy clears his throat, feeling vaguely ashamed. “He shouldn’t have brought Remy into this. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it was low, but don’t apologize for him. You didn’t do it.” 

“Will we see you next Thursday?”

“Jimmy.”

“Will we?”

“He won’t miss me. He doesn’t need anyone but you.” Jimmy starts to protest but Eric silences him with a lifted eyebrow. “Do you know how much he depends on you? I mean, I don’t even think he was pissed at me, he just got scared that maybe you see him the same way I did.”

Eric has no formal training as a psychiatrist but Jimmy knows plenty of professionals with none of his insight. He wonders what Eric would say if he laid it all out, how much he longs to touch Greg, that he still wants him, needs him, but that it’s Greg who says no, Greg who won’t allow it. “I’d miss you,” he admits, and holds on tight when Eric hugs him. 

 

They eat dinner at the kitchen table that night. Greg usually fixes something simple during the day, often soup, that will be easy for his body to process. He drinks more often than he eats, now, and Jimmy goes to the farmers market several times a week to bring back produce he can juice. There are flowers at the table, bright lilies, and Jimmy gazes at them. “Did you?” he asks, pointing at them.

“Of course not.” 

Eric must have brought them. Remy probably chose them. “I wish you’d apologize to him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s your friend.”

Greg’s eyes drift towards the cupboard where they used to keep the liquor, as if he doesn’t think this is a fair conversation to have sober. “He’s a stubborn, conceited, asshole-” 

“Wow, does that sound familiar.”

Greg continues, ignoring the interruption, “-who used to be one of my students and I’ve never considered him more than that.”

“He cares about you, he’s been a good friend to you, and, deny it all you want, I know you care about him, too. You don’t want him to remember the last time you spoke to him like that.”

Greg shrugs, unconcerned. “He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re projecting, Jimmy. Eric’s a lot tougher than you. Just because I said things that would make you cry doesn’t mean they bothered him.”

“I think that they did.” 

“Whatever.” Greg pushes his bowl away. “I want ice cream.”

Jimmy flips him off but goes to get it. They can’t keep weight on him, but he’s not going to stop trying.

 

“Dean Cuddy,” Jimmy says, when Lisa stops by his office. 

“Professor Wilson,” she replies, and slumps down in the chair across from him. “I’ve had a hell of a day. Tell me you still keep a flask?”

Jimmy opens his middle drawer and takes it out. He untwists the cap and passes it across his desk to her. “Ladies first.” Lisa smiles gratefully at him before taking a long drink, pausing for breath, and taking another. When she’s finished, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Jimmy reaches out for the flask and she places it in his hand. He gulps and shudders a little with the strength of the alcohol. “That takes the edge off, thank god.”

“Glenlivet?”

“Yeah.” For someone who drank as much as Greg did, before his diagnosis, it was pretty amazing he’d been able to completely stop. “Someone’s got to make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

“How is he?” 

Jimmy’s not looking for advice from Lisa, but the chance to sit and talk to someone sympathetic is too much of a relief to pass up. “He’s angry and I’m tired.”

Lisa sighs. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I know how difficult it must be.” She stretches her arm towards him, taps her fingertips against the band of the watch Greg gave him for his birthday a few years ago. “All the shit you’ve had to put up with from him, and I’m still jealous.”

“Why?”

“Because most people never get what you had.”

The past tense startles him, makes him determined to correct her. “What I have.”

“So you still-” 

“Of course. Always. Why would I- I’ve never stopped.” It’s true. The first time he saw Greg, met him, talked to him, he knew. He knew right away and he never bothered to question it. Why would he when the draw was so strong? “I’ll never stop.” Lisa takes his hand up, kisses his knuckles with her head bowed. He doesn’t try to stop the tears, just lets the world around him blur behind them. They finish the rest of the scotch in his flask together in silence and, when they’re done, she walks him home. 

 

When he walks into their foyer, it’s late in the afternoon and he hears music. Greg is sitting in the living room, at his piano, but he stops playing when Jimmy appears in the doorway. “Hey,” Jimmy says, and walks over to sit down on the bench beside him. 

“How was your day?” Greg asks, his eyes fixed on the sheet music in front of him. 

This used to be the time when they’d try to outdo each other with the best stories, mixing the actual with fiction until everything became ridiculous, surreal, until there was almost nothing they couldn’t laugh at. Greg still asks the question, but he never listens, and Jimmy thinks it’s not that it doesn’t matter to him, not that, it’s just that it takes too much energy now to really care. “Lisa sends her best.”

“What was she wearing? How much of her breasts could you see?”

“None. I think she’s stopped unbuttoning her blouses since you’re not around to torment. Short skirt, though.”

“Nice.”

“Your day ok?”

“Busy.”

“Really?” Greg leaves the house rarely now. He’s become so skinny that even people who don’t know he’s sick recognize that something’s wrong with him and even Greg eventually tired with the game of insulting people for their staring and gaping. “Doing what?”

Greg gets up and walks over to the writing desk, an antique. He opens up a drawer and draws out a box. “Writing letters.”

“Couldn’t resist one last chance to tell everyone we know that they’re idiots?”

“Sometimes I was a bit nicer than that. Sometimes. Anyway, that part’s none of your business. The only thing you need to worry your pretty little self about is disposing of them. Each envelope has the name of its recipient on the front. Just the name for people you know and see often. Addresses and stamps for people you don’t know or who live further away.” He puts the box down in front of Jimmy. “You’ll send them after I die.”

“I will?”

“I want you to.”

“Oh, well then, of course. You know how much I appreciate it when you order me around.”

“You’d refuse a dying man his last wish?”

“You’re too much of a coward to send them out now, aren’t you?”

Greg pats the top of Jimmy’s head, a condescending gesture that’s always annoyed him and that he now realizes he will miss. “You know me so well.” He walks away, leaves Jimmy alone in the room.

Jimmy takes the box into his hands and goes into the kitchen. He glances through the contents, notices there’s no envelope with his name. He turns on the radio, it’s turned to the jazz station, and sits down at the table. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this bad, this raw. 

“Crybaby,” Greg says.

Jimmy starts at his voice. He didn’t hear Greg approaching. “Sneaking up on me?”

Greg turns down the stereo, takes note of Jimmy’s state, and glares at him. “I thought we agreed-”

“Shut up. We never agreed. You told me not to cry. I never promised.”

“If I don’t cry about it, no one else should.”

Jimmy wipes his face clean. “I’m finished, asshole, ok?” Greg moves closer and Jimmy takes his hand, reels him in. “Sit down with me.” He wants Greg sitting on his thighs, wants to wrap his arms around him. 

“On your lap? No.”

“Please.” All he wants right now is to have Greg close to him, feel the warmth and weight of his body, rest his head against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart. 

“No.” Greg doesn’t move away, though, and Jimmy decides to just take what he has. He rests his head against Greg’s side and sighs when Greg runs a hand over his head. “What’s wrong?”

“The obvious.”

“No, it’s more than that. You looked in the box, didn’t you?”

“So? You gave it to me. It’s mine now.”

“You’re angry because I didn’t write a letter to you.”

“You don’t even like half the people you wrote to.”

“I don’t like anyone, but I had something to say to all of them.”

“Did you apologize to Eric?”

Greg’s hand stills. “I know that’s what you wanted.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I did.” Greg’s hand starts moving again, stroking up and down the back of Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy presses a kiss, through the thin cloth of his t-shirt, against Greg’s distended belly. 

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Then why?”

“Because what you said was true. I didn’t want to leave things like that between us.”

Jimmy slips his hand up under Greg’s t-shirt, seeking the heat of his skin. “What about me?” 

“What’s left for me to say to you? Here, I’ll leave you with this: all my life, you’re the one person I’ve never despised.”

“You’re such a misanthrope.” Jimmy rests the tip of his thumb in the dip of Greg’s belly button. “And I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you’re any less despicable or hypocritical than anyone else, I’m just saying, whatever you are, whatever your flaws, I can’t hate you for any of them. No matter what you do, you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Sweet talker.” 

Greg threads his fingers through Jimmy’s hair. “Jimmy.”

He closes his eyes. That voice is far too serious and he’s not prepared for what it might say. “Yeah?” he finally mumbles, against his better judgment. 

“How could I write you? What could I say? I don’t have the words.”

Jimmy can’t do anything but keep holding on.

 

“Sometimes I count the ways I’m lucky.”

The words sound sarcastic but not the voice that says them. “Yeah?”

“Cirrhosis sucks, there’s no getting around that, but at least I don’t have to worry about passing it on to anyone else, giving it to you.” Jimmy rolls over on his side, so he can look down at Greg whose eyes are closed. “I wasn’t always careful, when I was using. I could’ve been dying long before this. Could’ve died and missed the last thirteen years.”

Jimmy swallows. That’s how long they’ve been together. “We both would’ve missed them.”

“I know.” Greg’s lips twitch, like he’s forcing down a smile. “The best luck of all is that, no matter how many times I fucked up, I never managed to drive you away. You’re the neediest person I’ve ever met, you know that? Your addiction is saving the desperate.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I became a psychiatrist to help people, yeah, but, ultimately, the goal is to give them the skills they need to help themselves. What I really want is to make myself obsolete.”

Greg cracks an eye open. “Liar. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if all your patients up and healed themselves.”

This part of the conversation is one they’ve had before. This is when Jimmy is supposed to say that, even then, he’d still have Greg to look after, and that’s more than enough for him. They’ve joked about it so many times before, but how can they any longer? Jimmy is going to lose him, he’s going to be lost, and there’s no way around it. “No,” he admits, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Greg grimaces. “Way to ruin the moment, Eyore.” 

 

“Did you fuck him?”

Jesus. Jimmy knew he should’ve declined Robert Chase’s invitation to dinner. “Of course not.”

“Did you want to?”

“No.”

“Look at me and say that.”

Greg’s already in bed for the night, a book in his hands. Jimmy could move closer but he knows Greg will interpret that as a suspicious distraction on his part. All he can do is stand still in the doorway, on trial, and tell the truth. “I don’t want to fuck him. He tried to kiss me and I stopped him. You know I’d rather be with you than with anyone else.”

“He tried to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“That little shit. I never liked him. He can have your ass all he wants in a few months, what right does he have to it now? I hope he gets syphilis from his next trick.”

God, Jimmy would pray for more months, plural. Right now he can’t afford to hope beyond a single day at a time. “I’ll be sure to tell him that next time I see him.” He steps into their bedroom, loosening his tie.

“You can do better.”

“Than Chase?”

“God, yes.” 

“Are you trying to pimp me out?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to be a mess after this. It’s gonna be pathetic.”

“And you think there’s someone out there who can change that for me?” Greg doesn’t answer. Jimmy starts to undress. When he’s down to his boxers, he catches Greg watching him in the mirror above their dresser. He turns his head and smiles over his shoulder. “Nice view, right?”

Greg smirks back. “The best.”

Jimmy walks over and takes the book out of Greg’s hands. “So prove it.”

“Jimmy-”

“Show me how much you like what you see.”

“I may have filled your life with the vices-”

“They say no one’s as devout as a convert.”

“But I’ll be damned if I’ll make a necrophiliac out of you.”

Jimmy lifts the sheets and gets in bed beside him. He turns on his side, presses close. “You’re not dead yet.”

“I’m dying. Same difference.”

“We’re all dying. I’m dying.”

“Not as soon as I am. I’ve wasted down to bone, my skin is slack to touch, my breath stinks.”

“It doesn’t.”

“After all this time, you’re still such a shitty liar.”

“You smell different, it’s true, but I don’t care. You’re still you and that’s all that matters. Why won’t you believe me?”

“You’re the shrink, you tell me.”

“It’s because you’ve always thought I was too good for you.”

“Oh, this should be interesting.”

“It’s true. Over the years you’ve told me I’m too young, too good-looking, too well-adjusted, to be with you. It’s all bullshit. If you have to idealize me, fine, do it, but don’t demonize yourself in the process.”

“The two aren’t connected. If I idealize you, it’s not because I want to, it’s not because I try, it’s just because I do. I do and I can’t help it. I’ve lived with you for twelve years. If it hasn’t gone away by now, it never will. I’ve lived with myself for a lot longer, so I know that what I think about myself won’t change either.” Greg turns his face just a fraction towards Jimmy’s. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m too tired.”

“When he kissed me, I was relieved to be wanted again.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “You know I want you.” 

“But you don’t want me to want you.”

“I know you. I know you’ll do anything for me and I don’t want you to pretend you want me.”

“But I’m not pretending.” What Greg just said calms him more than he would’ve expected. Was all he needed an assurance that Greg does know how much Jimmy loves him? “Give in to me because I want it. Let me be selfish. It’s not for you, I swear it’s not for you.” He sees Greg wavering, presses his advantage. “You said it yourself, I’m not a good liar. Watch me. See that it’s for me, not for you.” Eyes wide and open, he leans in and traces the tip of his tongue around the circle of Greg’s parted lips. “Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Greg echoes and finally reaches back. 

 

He wakes, around dawn, to Greg shifting from side to side. “Are you ok?” 

“No, but I’m no worse than usual.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s nothing, Jimmy. There’s nothing you can get me, nothing I want, except-”

“Yes?” Jimmy curls up behind him, presses a hand to his chest. 

“I don’t-” Greg’s voice cracks. Jimmy waits, brushing his lips back and forth across the nape of Greg’s neck. Greg takes several minutes to speak again, gruff as ever before. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m right here. I’ll be right here.” Greg takes his hand. “There’s no where else I want to be.”

“I know.” Greg interlaces their fingers. “Me too.”


End file.
